STORY ONE, CHAPTER THIRTEEN. SIX YEARS AFTER. Six years have elapsed since the lynching of Dick Tarleton. Six years, by the statute of limitations, will wipe cut a pecuniary debt, and make dim many a reminiscence. But there are remembrances not so easily effaced; and one of these was the tragedy enacted in the clearing, near the Caney Creek. And yet it was but little remembered. In a land, where every-day life chronicles some lawless deed, the mere murder of a man is but a slight circumstance, scarce extending to the proverbial "nine days' wonder." Richard Tarleton was but a "sportsman," a gambler, if not more; and, as to the mode of his execution, several others of the same fraternity were treated in like fashion not long after, having been hanged in the streets of Vicksburg, the most respectable citizens of the place acting as their executioners! Amidst these, and other like reminiscences, the circumstance of Dick Tarleton's death soon ceased to be talked about, or even thought of, except, perhaps, by certain individuals who had played a part in the illegal execution. But some of these were dead, some gone away from the neighbourhood; while the influx of colonising strangers, creating a thicker population in the place, had caused those changes that tend to destroy the souvenirs of earlier times, and obliterate the memories of many a local legend. There was one memory that remained fresh--one souvenir that never slept in the minds of certain individuals who still lived in Helena or its neighbourhood. It was of another tragic occurrence that had taken place in the clearing near Caney Creek, on the day before that on which the condemned gambler had been dispatched into eternity. The knowledge of this second tragedy had been confided only to a few; and beyond this few it had not extended. The disappearance of young Robideau, sudden as it had been, excited scarce any curiosity--less on account of the other and better known event that for the time occupied the attention of all. The boy, as if feeling the taint of his Indian blood, and conscious of a distinction that in some way humiliated him, had never mixed much with the youth of the surrounding settlement, and for this reason his absence scarce elicited remark. Those who chanced to make the inquiry were told that Jerry Rook had sent him back to his mother's people, who were half-breed Choctaw Indians, located beyond the western border of Arkansas territory, on lands lately assigned to them by a decree of the Congress. The explanation was of course satisfactory; and to most people in Helena and its neighbourhood the boy Robideau was as if he had never been. There were some, however, who had better reason to remember him, as also to disbelieve this suspicious tale of Jerry Rook, though careful never to contradict it. These were the six youths, now grown to be men, the heroes of that wild, wicked frolic already recorded.